Interstitial Stories 1 - Downtime
by HonestlyNow
Summary: Sometimes, there's no time that passes between episodes in Modern Doctor Who. Sometimes, there's an undisclosed amount of time. And sometimes, there's just a second or two to squeeze in something else. Think of Interstitial Stories as the ice cream of the canon universe, filling in the cracks.


As the TARDIS made the transition into the vortex the display that showed Charles Dickens waiting outside faded to black and Rose turned to The Doctor, standing at her side.

"Well, that's past and future. What's next?" Her eye sparkled, looking forward to seeing what The Doctor could come up with to surprise her this time. His response caught her off-guard.

He looked down at her with a furrowed brow. "We've had a fairly busy time of it, haven't we? Where did we start?"

Rose, bemused, replied "The living plastic? You do remember that, right?"

"Oh, I remember it well. The Nestine Consciousness."

"Yeah," she smiled at him, "the night I saved your life."

"After I saved yours the day before, recall. And then?"

"Then, then you took me to the year five billion."

"Where I had to save you again. I figured you'd be done with me after that, but all you wanted was a bag of chips!"

"What can I say? I know what I like! And then," said Rose, continuing the recap, "we went to 1869, just now. Are you having memory troubles? Writing a travelogue?"

"No, neither of those," said the doctor, solemnly, "but in all that time, two hours here, three hours there, all starting off from an exhausting fight... Your body clock ought to feel like it's half three in the morning!"

Rose paused, surprised at the realization that he was right. "Well, I feel fine," she said, finally, and a little defensively.

"Rubbish! That'll be the adrenalin talking. I'll not have you nodding off while we're in the middle of things, having a kip instead of seeing a supernova, or dozing while we're in orbit round Barcelona. Right back to the wardrobe, find yourself a night dress, then three doors further along, down the passage to the left, two rights and the second door at the top of the stairs'll be a bedroom."

Feeling mutinous, Rose pouted for a moment and began to protest, only to be cut off.

"No argument, off you get. My people haven't needed much sleep for a long time, but you're human, and I'll not be responsible for you burning yourself out trying to keep up with me." He softened his voice a bit, putting his hand on Rose's shoulder. "I promise you, you won't miss a thing. I've got work that needs doing here. We're in a stationary lull in the Vortex, a bit like being in a car park. I won't go anywhere without you."

"Too right you won't," she said, conceding at last.

The Doctor watched her back as she walked away, his expression one of amused fondness.

The wardrobe truly was immense, and Rose wondered, again, just why the Doctor would have so many clothes in her size on the TARDIS. But it was only a brief thought, as the rows and rows of sumptuous dresses from every period of history blew all concerns away. She quickly spotted what she needed, folded up on a vanity to one side - fresh underclothes, new by the look of them, and a soft, white night dress that would run right down to her ankles. She flirted, briefly, with a shorter nightie, but suddenly came over all bashful. It didn't seem right, somehow.

Following the Doctor's directions, she reached the room at the top of the stairs. It wasn't terribly fancy, just a small room with what looked to be a very old four-poster bed, covered in what had to be fresh linens. The walls gave off a sort of unearthly glow, much like the rest of the TARDIS, but dimmer, more conducive to sleeping. Off to one side, an open archway led into a second room.

Closing the door behind her, Rose ran a hand along the coverlet, looked at the sparse appointments, and made her way into the second room, where a soft tinkling sound was just barely audible, something like the sound of a light rain.

Inside she found a bathroom, complete with a deep claw-foot tub full of bubbly water. She wasted a moment being disgusted with the Doctor for having been so sure of himself as to prepare everything on the assumption that he'd win the argument - before her more animal desires for a nice hot bath won out. She quickly divested herself of skirt, bodice, stocking and shoes and finally the pin that held up her hair, and was just as quickly up to the neck in warm soapy water.

She gave herself half an hour to soak, marveling that the water never lost that perfect temperature the whole time, before she got out and dried off. Donning her clean clothes and nightdress, she gave her hair a rough toweling before running an ornate silver brush through it lest it snarl. Then, in bare feet, she returned quietly to the control room.

There she found the Doctor, as promised, hard at work on some sort of repair. He had a panel open and a tangle of particolored wires spilled out. In his right hand was a rubber mallet, and he was sitting on a makeshift stool, his attention entirely focused on the display next to him as she approached. She managed to reach his side before he took note.

"Here, I thought I told you to go to bed?"

"Yeah," said Rose, shaking her head sarcastically, "I was going to ignore that waiting bath, was I? Think you're pretty clever, don't you?"

It was only then that he noticed her wet hair, and that she smelled just a bit of lilac.

"Bath? Right! Of course, silly me. But that doesn't count as a night's sleep you know. Besides, you couldn't go about dressed in that."

"Course not," she countered, "but I did want to say a proper 'good night' before I go." She stooped to his side and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "I'll see you in the morning. I think I figured out where I want to go next - back home."

"Home?" asked the Doctor, a trifle too keenly, as he looked up at her.

"Yes, but just for a bit. I've only got the one set of clothes with me, and handy as that wardrobe is, sometimes a girl just wants her own things. I'll check in on Mum, make sure she's okay, and then we're off again."

"Right you are, then," he replied, relieved at having read too much into her words. "Sleep well, and I'll have your chariot ready to go when you wake up."

Rose slipped away, quietly, and the Doctor watched her go. When she was well out of earshot, he turned back to the center console.

"What's with you, being so welcoming all of a sudden?" he asked, to nobody in particular. "You didn't have to do that for her, you know. Nor for me." He rested a hand on the console, stroking a bare bit of paneling. "But thanks, love."


End file.
